The Clouds Aren't White

by Rachael Wright

  "I don't know what's going to happen but I've put you through enough over the last five years. I just can't watch you get more and more exhausted. I want to have time with Sophie. I want her to remember me...remember that I was always there for her dance recitals and school plays and bath time and dinners. I'll never make an actual difference here," he says gesturing at the building behind him. "I do have a chance to make a difference in your life and in Sophie's. That's what I want."

  I quail under the intensity.

  "Um...well...can't argue with that one," I say, stuttering.

  "So you're not upset?"

  "Upset? Why on earth would I be upset?"

  "I hear the governor's mansion is pretty nice.”

  "Don't you have a meeting to go to?" I laugh, halfheartedly pushing him away.

  "I'm leaving. I love you."

  He starts to walk away, and I just can't let him go. I lurch towards him, throwing my arms around his neck.

  "I love you," I say and plant a kiss on his cheek, wiping away the trace of red lipstick as I pull away.

  "I'll see you at six," he says gathering me into his strong arms.

  The smell of his cologne collects in my nose. It’s an old one, and soon I'm conjuring up images of men drinking scotch and smoking cigars. The moment ends all too quickly, and I'm left standing by our car, in space 129, watching as he makes his way up the east staircase, ascending the stone steps. The columns swallow him, and I turn back to the car. Sophie slumps back against her seat; thoroughly upset at the number of errands we are about to do.

  "What is Daddy doing today, Mommy?" Sophie says as we wind our way back through downtown.

  "He's in a committee meeting, talking about the need for change in prison regulations.”

  "Oh. What do they want to change?"

  "They want to add more programs to help people prepare for when they get out of prison and also to make people safer while they are in prison."

  "That seems like a nice thing to do," she says dourly.

  "Yes it does, doesn't it?" I say, smiling broadly at her in the rearview mirror.

  "Daddy said some people don't want it.”

  I wonder when exactly she picked up that little tidbit of information.

  "It's not that. It is a big worry, it takes a lot of money to implement these programs and some feel the money could be spent better somewhere else."

  "Okay. Well, I think people should be helped. That's what we should all do right? Help people?" she says, smiling to herself as she bends back over her drawing.

  It’s not long before we've finished the errands and Sophie's actively pleads to go to the park. The day is warm and facing the prospect of another four hours spent in the car, I acquiesce. We might as well burn some energy before the storm breaks over Denver and we are forced indoors.

  "Come on Mommy, let's cross!" Sophie says, pulling me up to the crosswalk towards Commons Park.

  "Alright Soph, slow down girl," I say, laughing a little as I pull her back from the road and look for cars.

  She bounces on the balls of her feet reminding me of a tightly wound coil. I struggle to rein her in.

  We make our way to the park and at the exact moment its safe, Sophie lets go of my hand and takes off over the pedestrian bridge. I walk leisurely in her direction, enjoying the slight breeze, ruffling its way across the grass. Sophie wends her way over to the lone hill and charges up. When she summits it, she pauses, lifts her arm like a great bird of prey and charges down. Her squeal of delight echoes across the park, drawing warm smiles. I start towards her as her feet start to trip up but she catches herself and speeds towards me, carried by her downhill flight.

  "Did you see that Mommy?" she pants, her eyes wild with excitement.

  "I did! You were so fast!"

  "I'm going to do it again," she stops me with her hand, "...just stay here and make sure you watch."

  "Not going anywhere."

  I laugh as she takes off again. I lose track of the amount of times she charges up and down the hill. She might stop to gather up a flower or pause to appreciate a cute dog, but then she's back to charging up the hill. Her legs strain on the ascent but they fall in line, time after time. She radiates happiness, and I hate myself for not taking more time like this to enjoy her as she is. My overcommitted life, and me forever worrying about to-do lists, being on time, having everything organized just so. It all seems so blatantly ridiculous in view of this treasure in front of me.

  "Here sweetheart, drink up. It'll help cool you down," I say, handing her water when she finally comes to a panting halt.

  Her cheeks are flushed a color and her eyes are alight with joy.

  "Thanks...oh Mommy...that was so fun."

  "I loved watching how fast you could go," I say smiling.

  Sophie's grins back as she sips her water and then collapses on the grass. I follow her gaze out to the east where a thin line of clouds are still resolutely white, soft beams of light fall from tiny cracks in their formation.

  "Look Soph, aren't those clouds gorgeous? I've never seen ones so white!" I say.

  They contrast so sharply against the gathering storm that their beauty seems gloriously magnified. Sophie considers this for a moment with a puzzling little frown on her face.

  "The clouds aren't white, Mommy."

  "What?" I say, absentmindedly, still drinking in the beams of light.

  "They aren't white. There's yellow and blue and a little bit of grey. Daddy told me. He said he never paints with just white. Especially not clouds. Daddy says they reflect the ground and the sky, like a lake," she says, tenaciously.

  She crawls onto my lap, places her face inches from mine, and begins to point out where she can see all of the different colors. I struggle to keep my mouth from dropping open. Of course the clouds aren't white. Nothing in life is ever that simple, and so we sit, as I listen to her talk about proper painting techniques and the relationship of the clouds to the earth and the sky.

  Sophie talks herself into a contented silence. My phone starts to ring. Not recognizing the number, I let it go to voicemail. This is a moment too perfect to interrupt. The ringing doesn't stop, though. At the end of the third call I stare at the screen. Then a text flashes across

  its an emergency Em, answer your phone

  I'm still staring when Sophie twists around in my lap to see why I've stopped responding to her.

  "Hello?" I say, answering the next call.

  "Emmeline, where are you?" A nervous panicked voice issues

  from the other end, panting hard.

  "Who is this?"

  "It's David, Amy gave me your number."

  It’s a familiar voice. David works with Hugh. I've been a friend of his wife, Amy, for years.

  "David. You said it was an emergency," I say.

  "Where are you?" David says the words coming out in a great

  rush.

  "Commons Park," I say, hesitating. "What's going on?" There's a small moment of pause, in the silence come the starting

  warbles of sirens.

  "Commons Park..." David shouts, there are low sounds in the

  background, a faint squeal of tires and sirens. They slowly turn into a

  cacophony in my ear.

  "David, for God's sake, tell me what's going on.”

  Panic starts to settle in, collapsing in on my chest. It takes a

  herculean effort to breathe, the rushing in my ears so loud, I could be

  standing next to a waterfall. Peals of sirens echo in my heart. "Listen I'll tell you when you get here," David says after a hefty

  pause. "There's a trooper on his way, he'll be there in a couple

  minutes. Walk to the nearest road." His voice is brittle and he sounds

  distracted.

  I stand numb as Sophie bends down to pick dandelions, softly

  letting go of my fingers.

  "This is ridiculous, David," I start, but the line goes dead and all I

  hear before
it cuts off are more shouts and more sirens.

  I've been petrified. The phone remains glued to my ear, the sirens

  echo in my mind.

  "Look Mommy! There's more!" Sophie's voice comes back to me

  as though from across a great chasm.

  Pulling myself back to earth makes my head spin even more.

  There's a tug on my arm and I see Sophie trying to pull us over to a

  cluster of dandelions.

  "Stop Sophie. Come on," my voice is rough, harsh even from the

  panic.

  "Are we going to tea, Mommy?" Sophie asks, starting to skip, a

  broad smile breaking across her face.

  "No, Sophie. We are getting picked up."

  "But Mom, our car's just back there!" Sophie says, pointing over

  her shoulder.

  "We're going in a police car."

  "Oh really? Like the kind Daddy used to drive."

  "Uh huh," I mumble.

  We look a strange sight, standing in the middle of the sidewalk for

  what feels like an eternity. It can only be a few minutes, but in those

  minutes I lose my hold on reality, making up completely unrealistic

  scenarios in my head. The wind begins to pick up, whipping at my

  skirt and pushing strands of hair into my mouth. There are no more

  white clouds; the sky is dark, a swirling mass, and moments away

  from raining down its wrath. I shiver, goose flesh moving in ripples

  down my arms and across my back. Sophie's grip on my hand is

  slack; she has managed to snag a bunch of dandelions. Some are still

  yellow, others gone full to seed - just waiting for someone to make a

  wish. I long to bring one to my lips, take a deep breath, and blow.

  CHAPTER TWO

  With a loud screech of tires a silver state patrol vehicle careens to a shuddering halt in front of us. Without waiting for the trooper, I help Sophie into the back and buckle her in. The trooper doesn't shut off the sirens; they remain, muted from inside the confines of the car. The lights bouncing strangely off the passing buildings.

  "Excuse me," I say as we fly around Common's Park, "...can you tell me what's going on?"

  Silence meets my question and I lean forward, trying to meet the answer halfway.

  "Trouble at the Capitol, ma'am," he says, his answer is stiff, a little too rehearsed.

  "What does 'trouble' mean? My husband is at the Capitol today. Why were we picked up?"

  In the rearview mirror the trooper's dark eyes meet mine for the shortest space of a moment. They're so dark as to almost be black, but in them I see a hint of humanity and a trace of sorrow.

  "I'm not allowed to say ma'am," he says, tearing his gaze away, and the moment is gone.

  He stares straight ahead, eyes locked on the traffic.

  "You have to be joking. This is getting ridiculous. Why didn't Hugh just call me...?" I say, voice drifting into silence.

  My heart falls into a tailspin. Hugh didn't call because he couldn't or wasn't close to his phone. It’s always on him, tucked into the inside pocket of his suit coat. Sophie stirs in the hard seat and my hand jerks uncontrollably as I tighten my grip around her shoulders.

  "What's wrong with him?" I say, not even expecting an answer.

  After years of being a cop's wife, I know how well they ignore those sitting in the back seats of their squad cars. It's a waste of breath. With a start, I realize something else. The car is strangely silent; there should be constant radio traffic. I try to remember what Hugh said about protocol for radio silence...something about searching a building or...but the thought escapes me. I'm not sure I even remember my own name right now; my brain doesn't seem to be working properly. I can't process what's happening. All I'm capable of noticing are the raindrops lashing at the windows and the speed at which buildings are flying by.

  "Mommy..."

  Sophie's voice is soft, almost a whisper. I meet Sophie's eyes. They aren't the dry happy eyes of ten minutes ago; they're filled with fear and confusion. I don't say anything. I don't know if I am capable of speech. I just pull her closer into my arms and bury my face in her curls.

  "Mommy...is Daddy ok?"

  "I don't know," I whisper, "...I just don't know."

  Sophie shudders in my arms. I hold her tighter, trying to keep us both in one piece. Signs for the Swedish Medical Center fly by and a glass-fronted building looms across the road. I try to think, try to remember how to move the muscles in my body, try to piece why there are multiple Denver PD cruisers and ambulances parked haphazardly in the emergency entrance.

  I grab for Sophie and secure her in my grasp. She is shaking violently and buries her head into my shoulder. Shutting out the world, I stumble through the fog obscuring my thought process. In the space of a few moments we are herded across the entrance and being ushered through the automatic doors where a flood of people loiter. I can't think, can't drag my mind through the muddle of emotions.

  "Emmeline."

  I stop in the middle of the ER corridor a few feet from the checkin station. My mind doesn't register being brought to a hospital ER.

  "Emmeline." I blink through my fog. "Emmeline, it's David."

  "David..." I respond, agreeing with the voice.

  "Let's go sit down."

  "Sure."

  David steers me over to some chairs at the back of the room. Everyone's staring, very openly staring, and I want to bury my head in someone else's chest as well. I settle for Sophie's soft curls, breathing a faint whisp of lavender. We sit. We sit in the chairs, the all black chairs. David fiddles with his hands. I watch their progress, staring as his fingers grasp at each other and as the knuckles go white.

  It's beginning to feel wrong.

  Something must be wrong.

  This isn't normal. "I'm...I don't know how to say this," David begins, staring at his knees, then the words table from his lips, tripping over each other in their rush to be spoken. "Hugh was shot."

  What?

  How is it I got here?

  Shot.

  I just dropped him off.

  "Emmeline, can you hear me? I'm so sorry. He's been taken for emergency surgery, but I'm afraid they don't have much hope."

  Hope?

  What hope?

  Hugh is in a meeting. I was just at the park with Sophie. Sophie. "Emmeline..." "I heard you, David."

  "It might be a while before they know anything."

  I'm nodding.

  Why am I nodding? I hand my phone over to David.

  "Here. Call his parents. Tell them."

  David nods and scurries off, like a man clutching at a lifeline. "Mommy?" Sophie squeaks, peaking nervously around at the

  room.

  "What is it sweetie?" I choke out, I can feel her next question, and

  it hovers unspoken on the air.

  "What does shot mean? Is Daddy ok? Is he around here

  somewhere?"

  She scans the room for her father. I feel the tears before I notice

  they drip steadily down. They fall in great rivers of pain and despair. "Shot means...he was hurt with a gun.”

  Sophie sighs at this, at my feeble explanation.

  "Did someone hit him?"

  "No...they, they didn't hit him.”

  Fear starts to claw its way up my throat, constricting my

  breathing, cutting off all coherent thought.

  "Is he coming out soon?" Sophie plows on.

  My mouth opens and closes, and I feel ridiculously like a

  goldfish, but nothing comes out. I watch her eyes as I shake my head.

  I watch as their light dims. As the innocence behind them cracks. She hides herself from me, burying her face once again in my hair. Dampness seeps through my shirt as Sophie's chest heaves, pitching and rolling under my hands. I rub her back like I used to when she

  was a baby and slowly rock from side to side.

  We
sit. We sit in chairs not developed with the comfort of ER

  visitors in mind. I stare straight ahead, in my pain nothing else exists.

  The room blurs around the edges and the roaring in my ears even

  dulls. Then out of the mist a woman walks towards us.

  "Mrs. MacArthur?" she says in a soft watery voice.

  "Yes?"

  "Why don't you come with me? We can find you a quieter and

  more comfortable place to wait."

  This is worse.

  I remember this. I remember walking to a private room when my grandfather was taken into the ER for chest pains.

  This is infinitely worse than the ER waiting room.

  Its blue. Calming, Hugh used to say, because it’s the color of the sky and everyone loves a calm, blue sky. Now, just knowing the color is supposed to be calming is unnerving. As soon as the woman leaves the room, I collapse against the far wall, sliding down to the hard floor. Sophie and I are clutching at each other as if we could hold onto the remnants of our life a half hour ago. We are the last real things on earth. Sophie rolls herself into a ball in my arms.

  How long has it been?

  His favorite suit. What if they ruin it?

  What the hell? Why do I care?

  The door is opening. Sophie turns around at the sound. Possibly convinced it's her father, up and at it already, squealing to her that it has all been some horrendous joke. But it's not. It's a haggard looking surgeon in faded blue scrubs. 'A hideous color really,' I think mockingly. David is right behind him clutching my phone. His face is the color of curdled milk. It seems an age before the doctor sits down on the floor beside us. His eyes swim with regret, disappointment, and exhaustion. My lungs are searing, aching for breath.

  This is how it must feel to suffocate.

  A deep clanging disorients me. "Mrs MacArthur...I am so sorry to inform you...there was nothing we could do. Your husband has just passed away. You can see him one last time if you'd like."

  There is only black.

  The world has ended...why is my heart still beating. "Mommy...is Daddy coming back out?" Sophie says as she tugs on my shirtsleeve with a little hopeful smile.

  I can't speak...I open my mouth and nothing comes out.

  "Daddy's gone sweetheart...he's died..." I choke out the last word.